It is day 166. I have made my way out of the desert, through the national forest and into the suburbs. I have traveled 3006 miles. The last milestone before the Pacific Ocean. 3000 miles. It is moments like these that I think back to the sarcastic “good luck” I received from the Wal Mart greeter in Corinth, MS. His little comment has stuck with me. He said “You know how far that is right”? Believe me. I know.
I was able to get a new sleeping bag in Reno at Wal Mart to get me through the cold nights in the Tahoe National Forrest. It was a 50 degree bag and I was still pretty damn cold but it got me through. I walked to an REI before Wal Mart but their sleeping bags run anywhere between $100 and $500. Seemed a little unnecessary to me. My first bag that is sitting in my cart at the rest area at the 43 mile marker in Nevada cost me $12.
The night before leaving Reno my anxiety took over. I seem to always doubt myself when I know things are about to change. I remember this feeling clearly before heading into Kansas. Again when getting ready to walk the Interstate for the first time in Wyoming. Here I was once again. Will I be able to walk the rest of the way with my 60lb pack that I am definitely not used to yet? What road can I walk? It is illegal to walk the interstate in California. Will my cheap sleeping bag hold up to temperatures is the mid 30’s? In these moments I have to tell myself to slow down. Just breathe. Walk forward. Something good will happen.
The first couple days were a struggle as my body got used to carrying so much weight. The decision to leave my cart behind turned out to be a good one. Immediately after crossing the state line back in to my home state of California I had to get off I-80. There was about a 40 drop off of the side of the road in the form of a steep slope. I tried to slowly climb down but it immediately turned into me sliding on my back down. I then walked the railroad tracks. They ran all the way to Truckee alongside the 80 and the Truckee River. Some parts had a trail, most did not. I ended up walking on the tracks most of the way. A road worker told me one of the tracks was not active so I could just walk that one. About an hour later he was proven wrong. I heard the train horn behind around a bend. I looked back and assumed it was on the other track. I thought I should just get off the other track just to put some distance between me and the train. It is a very good thing I did that. I peeked back over my shoulder as the passed about a foot from my head. I was very aware from that point forward.
The large rocks on the track began to dig into my feet after a while. Walking the tracks became miserable. I was able to find an alternate route which included me crossing the Truckee River at a reasonable low point. Finally I was in Truckee!
I had been told by several other travelers along the way that Truckee was a great place. I loved it right away. The cool air swept through this mountain town. Each passing car had a kayak, bike rack or an abundance of stickers on it. A lot of travelers of all kinds. I felt like I belonged here. A few days prior I had met James and Trina outside of Fernley, NV. They were at a truck stop holding up a sign for money and food. They have been traveling by foot or hitching for the last 2 years. They met in a cave in Kingman, AZ 2 years prior. Trina was living in that cave. She left only to get vodka from the liquor store. From the outside, me talking to them there you would probably just assume we were 3 homeless people. They told me they would be in Truckee in a few days. I walked into Truckee 5 days later. Sure enough. There they were right in front of the Safeway. I sat with them for a couple hours listening to their stories and learning the ins and outs of “flying” (holding up a sign). We all shared the same philosophy. When you realize you can walk anywhere. When you truly do not have to depend on anybody but yourself to get where you want to go, you will never be stuck. This is what separates us from those who are homeless. We are never stuck.
Heading out of Truckee I walked Donner Pass Rd. It was the most beautiful day of walking I have experienced. Alongside Donner Lake and up to Donner Summit. This was the day I felt like I finally got used to my pack. I was able to walk again. I didn’t have to struggle anymore.
From Donner Summit it was pretty much all downhill from there. I dropped 4600 feet of elevation, exited the national park and walked 34 miles on Hwy 20 into Grass Valley. Finally used to the burden that was my pack, I did not want to stop. Hwy 20 would have been a nightmare to walk with my cart. Two lanes, no shoulder surrounded by tall trees the entire way. I was determined to get to grass valley that night. The sun dropped down below the trees and there was darkness. The surrounding trees blocked the glare of the moon. Their presence deadened the sound. I enjoyed the new perspective. Night. It had been a while since I had walked at night. It energized me. I proceeded on the 20 through town which is technically illegal, but I wasn’t stopping. Only 3 miles left to Grass Valley. It was me in the darkness. Avoid the lights. It became a game. Headlights spotlighting me for only a split second at a time. Like I was some sort of rat. The drivers must see movement. They shine their brights on me only to see this dirty, sweaty bearded man who just looks lost. They inevitably honk their horns because, well that is just what humans do. They honk horns and that is pretty much it until the next car passes. Around 930 pm I reached Grass Valley. Completely fulfilled. 11 hours of walking.
The next two days I walked through Auburn and several other cities to Roseville. Back to the real California. The space between the mountains and the beach. Where most everyone lives. The heat set in. The heat I remember from back home. These towns all felt the same. Nothing to differentiate itself from the next town. The cars were everywhere. Was everybody trapped here? Why does everyone flock to the same place? The buildings begin to repeat themselves. They are an illusion to lure your mind away from the dry, colorless, and season less setting that is becoming the California desert. The buildings with green letters serve coffee. Red letters mean groceries. I spend endless amounts of time waiting for a small green man to light up so I can continue my life. Welcome to the suburbs. Where everything you think you need is never too far away and nothing will surprise you ever again.
These standard suburban towns upset me more than I anticipated. Even with all of that, nothing could bring me down today. Not even the scorching heat and my blistered feet. I had eclipsed 3000 miles. 3000 miles. A year ago I never would have thought I would ever say that in my life. I thought I would just maybe read about someone else doing it and continue to go to sleep at night with regret. I am roughly 115 miles from the Pacific Ocean and the end of this journey.
Side Note (s)
My feet are more covered in blisters than ever before. I was hobbling the last few days, switching where I put pressure on my feet.
James and Trina were going to show me where a fellow traveler had built a shack to camp in along the river in Truckee. They met me at McDonald’s where I was charging my phone. They got in to an argument over connecting to the free Wi-Fi. James walked outside with his hands in the air. Trina yanked the cord out of the wall. I never saw them again.
It was 108 degrees today.
Still no deodorant.
In the town of Loomis, about 10 miles north of Roseville I noticed a lot of marble benches surrounding the elementary school. They didn’t seem to fit. They were also very uncomfortable. They were all dedicated to the city by somebody. I know this because it was carved into each bench. I was thinking of the conversation that lead to these dedicated benches that were pretty much purposeless.
X- “Hey how about we donate some benches to the city and we will put our names on them and place them in front of the school”?
Y - “ What about giving the school some books”?
X – “ Can we put our name on them”?
Tomorrow will most likely be my last rest day. This may also be my last blog post from the road. You may have to read the rest in a book someday.